


Was That Enough?

by internetname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-12-07 00:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: Dean wakes up knowing his body has been used, but when he learns who did it, he must try to understand why.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester woke up sore, the good kind, with a burn from repetitive use of his thighs, tender nipples, arms that felt stretched out and noodle-y. Even his lips were tired.

With a pleased hum, he rolled onto his back, and then frowned. One place was a lot sorer than it had ever been before. In fact, he frowned harder, his ass damn well hurt.

Had he let some lady peg him last night? Just what had he been drinking?

He got his eyes open. They felt a little crusty. And instead of crummy wallpaper, he saw the walls of his room. In fact, he was tucked into his bed like a neatly folded shirt in a drawer, wearing his boxers, undershirt, and socks.

And no, he hadn’t been drinking last night. He—They’d been on a hunt, he and Cass and Sam and Jack.

 _Witches_ , he thought with disgust as he sat up. They’d been after some witches.

Oh crap, head rush.

With a groan and a wince, he got out of bed and staggered over to the sink, flicking a glance at the mirror before he reached for the faucet.

And then he stood there, blinking at the weeks-old whiskers on his face. He had a damn beard.

“Sam!” he shouted, heading out his door. “Sam!”

“Dean!” Sam said, meeting him in the hallway. Thank God, his brother looked exactly the same, hair too long, eyes all worried. A huge hand clamped down on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re up! How do you feel?”

Dean made sure he didn’t say he felt like his ass had been introduced to a nuclear missile. “I feel like something is going on. How long have I—” He gestured.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were heading to Ohio in Baby, going after a coven.”

Sam’s eyes got bigger. “Dean, that was six weeks ago.”

“Dean!” Jack called out as he entered the hall, then raced up to throw his arms around his father. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“I’ve been asleep for six weeks?” Dean demanded.

Jack pulled back, not meeting his eyes. Sam looked a little spooked.

“Uh, not quite.”

“What does that mean?”

Sam backed up a step, then did that uncertain smile thing he did. “Let’s get you some coffee first,” he said, then swung around to get to the kitchen.

“Sam,” Dean growled, but the big guy kept going, and coffee did sound pretty good.

Cass was waiting for them, holding out a full mug with a blank expression on his face. Dean took it, looked over the three of them, held up a finger, drank half the mug, and then set it down on the metal counter.

“All right, spill. What the hell happened?”

“You were taken,” Sam said.

“Dean, what’s the very last thing you remember?” Castiel asked.

“We were in the car. I was driving. Iron Maiden was playing. Jack was talking about—” He frowned.

“Dinosaurs,” Jack said. “I was talking about dinosaurs.”

“OK, yeah. I kinda remember that.”

“That’s at least three hours before we reached the mansion,” Sam said.

“What mansion?”

“The coven,” Sam told his brother. “They were staying there, three of them.”

“We burst in on them,” Jack said. “You don’t remember?”

“Not a bit.”

“That might be for the best,” Cass said, looking at Sam, who instantly shook his head.

“No, Cass. Dean needs to know.”

“Why?” the angel asked.

“Because Dean is standing right here and wants to know!” Dean said.

“Dean.” Cass turned to faced him, his face intent but still oddly blank. “The trial to get you out was most unpleasant for you. You were under a spell. We got you out of there only through great suffering on your part. There’s no need for you to recall the horrors of—”

“Cass!” Sam said, looking horrified. “I’m sure that’s not true!”

“I was there, Sam,” Cass said, oddly fierce. “He was under their thrall, and freeing him was an ordeal he would just as well do never to remember.”

“Cass,” Sam said, sounding almost hurt.

The angel shook Sam off and turned to Dean squarely. “My advice is for you to resume your life and see if any memories surface on their own, which they shouldn’t. But the magic involved was, in a word, complex.”

“Yeah, see, I’m not OK with that.”

“Dean,” Sam said, and Dean knew that tone. “You’re just back on your feet. Eat something, shower, shave, see if you head clears. Then we’ll talk.”

“There’s bacon!” Jack said.

Defeated by three pairs of pleading eyes, Dean ate, showered, shaved, and dressed, then walked into the library more determined than ever to find out what the hell happened.

Maggie, however, was standing there.

“Dean!” she squealed, running up to him, hesitating, and then lightly tapping him on the forearm. “It’s so good to have you back with us. I mean, not hearing anything for a month, and then, well, Castiel and Sam, and then, but now you’re back. Thank God.”

“You guys couldn’t find me for a month?”

“Not a word, not a single lead.” She shrugged. “Except the videos.”

“Videos?”

“Yeah, dozens of them. I only got to see one, but you looked so, well…” She stood there a moment awkwardly. “I mean, I don’t really know. Shouldn’t you be talking to Sam and Castiel about this?”

“Maggie,” Sam said quietly, Castiel standing at his side. “We got this.”

“We do?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “And we’d better start with the Impala.”

“Baby?”

“The car is fine,” Castiel said. “But it’s been through a lot.”

They turned then, passing through a few hunters who shot them uncertain looks, and made their way into the garage.

“Oh no, Baby,” Dean groaned, looking over the mud-and-who-knows-what-splatted Impala. Leaves and grass were stuffed into the seams, the antenna was bent back, and a headlight was busted. He rushed to her, looking her over in detail, but that proved to be the worst of it.

When he turned to the others, Cass had taken off his trench and rolled up his sleeves, and Sam had gotten out the hose and bucket. Once all three of them were taking off the first layer of gunk, Sam began.

“When we got to the mansion, Cass could sense great power, so we didn’t storm in. We spent two days watching them, but we didn’t learn anything but that they got their groceries delivered and one of them was really into the roses growing in the front yard.

“Finally, we decided to send someone to the front door with a grocery delivery who would explain the order was a mistake. We set you up with a couple bags, you went up by yourself, and then you went inside instead of staying on the porch.”

“We waited ten minutes,” Cass said, taking over while he scrubbed at the read window. “And we were about to go in after you, when we got the first video.”

“You were, uh, naked. They’d surrounded you with candles. The video was only a few seconds.”

“We tried storm the mansion then,” Cass said, taking the hose from Sam and spraying at the crusted wheel in front of him. “But they had erected angel warding, and Sam couldn’t break in. Jack . . .” Cass looked over at Sam.

“What?” Dean demanded.

“Jack fainted,” Sam said. “We couldn’t wake him up.”

“He was too sensitive to the magic the coven was sending out,” Castiel said. “They may have been targeting him. We couldn’t be sure.”

“We had to retreat,” Sam said, soaping up the driver’s side window. “Jack didn’t recover until we were almost back at the bunker, so we left him here and came back for you.”

“They kept sending videos to our phones,” Cass said, scrubbing at the grille. “Every few hours.”

Dean took the hose to the back window and trunk. They’d gotten most of the gunk and mud off. He went back in with the sponge.

“They never touched you, not on the videos, and from what could tell, not at all,” Sam said.

“It was obvious they were preparing you for a ritual.”

“Like a sacrifice, right?” Dean asked.

“We weren’t sure,” Castiel said. “None of the runes they were using was about your death.”

Dean shut off the water. “No, it was sex. You think I can’t tell that? You think I can’t feel my own body?” He threw down the hose. “Now, tell me. What did those bitches do to me?”

“They did nothing, Dean,” Castiel said. “They never touched you.”

“Then what? Who did?”

Castiel raised his chin. “I did. I touched you to save your life.”


	2. Chapter 2

The general sense of revulsion that had been with Dean since he woke up increased a hundred-fold. Cass had touched him? Cass had—oh, God. Cass had . . .

Cass.

_What, we couldn’t just trade hand jobs, or something?_

But that wasn’t fair. Dean knew that even as he backed up a step. It wasn’t right of him to jump to any conclusions now.

“Dean,” Castiel said next, that gravel voice so damn familiar, including the grief behind it. “I can only swear to you that I did the absolute minimum I could to get us out of there.”

 _Us?_ _Did they capture you too?_

“It’s true,” Sam said, earnest eyes on display. “He went seven times to the coven in supplication, and they made it worse each time.”

“Sam,” Cass growled. “That’s unimportant, particularly right now.”

“Look, we’re getting nowhere here,” Dean said. “How about we start with the videos?”

“After we finish washing the car,” Sam said, picking up the hose and rinsing off the hood.

“Why?”

“Because you and Cass are driving to Donna’s cabin to talk about everything without a dozen hunters and Jack in the same building.”

Dean wanted to object, but the others went after the car like they were performing CPR, and then while Sam was wiping Baby down with a sham, Cass left and came back with duffle and grocery bags.

After the angel got into the passenger seat, Sam rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder and leaned in.

“Dean, whatever happens, don’t let those witches take Cass out of our lives.”

Dean shrugged off his hand and got behind the wheel, which made his ass protest again. They didn’t talk in the car. Castiel stared out the window, and Dean put on a tape without looking at the label and just let it play over and over.

When they pulled up, Dean got out of the car, grabbed his bag out of the trunk, got hold of the key hidden under the weathered cowboy boot, and opened the door to the cabin. Cass followed with the grocery bags.

Dean turned on the lights, threw his bag on the dark brown couch, and turned to watch Cass close the door, cross the small space, and set the bags down in the tiny kitchen.

“Start by showing me the videos.”

Cass nodded and got out his phone, then handed it over with a word. He turned and went into the kitchen to put up the food and make coffee. Dean sat on the couch next to his bag and watched them, dozens of them, while a mug of coffee threatened to go cold at his elbow before he downed it, and then a beer, and then another beer.

As Sam and Cass had said, he was never touched in the videos. Most of them didn’t even show his junk, and even with those it was just a flash here and there. Is was somehow worse than if he’d just been spread out on a table naked.

No, the videos, all about twenty seconds long, were candles and smoke, poses and hands and his skin, runes and chanting, and more damn candles, like some sort of Wiccan Casa Erotica porn. Dean saw his face with his eyes wide open and glassy, his body often painted with makeup and more runes.

Toward the end, he was constantly being shot with red satin sheets and odd little fetish items: his ankle and a bedpost in a pair of handcuffs, his eyes blindfolded while even more damn candles dripped wax on his chest, which seriously looked painful and made him rub a hand under his shirt, feeling hairless skin.

And then came the final video. Dean saw himself laid out on a bed of red satin sheets while a specter of shadows rose up between his legs.

“Cass!”

The angel ran into the room, angel blade in hand, and looked around wildly. Dean didn’t notice, eyes fixed on the screen of Cass’ phone.

“Cass!”

“I’m here, Dean.”

“Tell me this, this thing—”

“No, Dean.” Cass put his blade away and sat on the opposite end of the couch, the duffel bag between them. “No, it didn’t touch you.”

Dean looked at him, eyes full of panic.

“I don’t really think it was there at all,” Cass went on. “It was just a warning to me and Sam.”

“A warning.”

“That we were to obey.”

Dean rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. “Obey what, Cass?”

“The runes made it clear that you were to be offered up for your carnal sensation.” Castiel looked at him with all the emotion of a large rock. “Either Sam or I were to provide a partner for you, or they would.”

“They’d have made—Sam?”

Cass wasn’t looking at him anymore, staring at the window as though it had personally offended him. “Yes.” He briefly looked into Dean’s eyes, then away. “They would have taken anyone, but it had to be a man.” Cass looked at the floor. “We asked if it could be an aggressive female, someone like Pamela, or someone.” His voice, small at that point, trailed off.

Dean found he didn’t much want to look at Cass either.

“You’re telling me, I mean, with your power—”

“The power of Heaven is currently nine angels, Dean.” Cass’ voice sounded raw. “There was a time I could have gone in there, ripped those witches apart, and taken you back to the bunker before _Jeopardy_ aired, but . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t get you out of there.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dean said automatically. Castiel had thrown his lot in with him and Sam. “I know you did everything you could.” He finally managed to look up at the angel, who was still staring at the floor. “Cass.” He waited until blue eyes flicked up to his. “I know you did what you could.”

Those eyes flashed with grief. “I tried, Dean. I tried everything I could think of to get them to let you go. I begged. Sam begged. We offered everything we could think of that didn’t involve another human life. They were adamant.”

“So you had to . . . ” Dean hated the way his voice dried up. He cleared his throat. “I mean.”

“Yes.” Castiel was back to his monotone. “We had relations, and then they released you. That was the end of the matter.”

“Cass.”

For the first time, Castiel looked angry. “How much detail do you want, Dean?” He stood up and walked away, staring at one of Donna’s paintings of a hunting blind.

Dean swallowed his first sentence; he didn’t know what it was going to be anyway. God, he just wanted this to be over. But over for what? Where was he supposed to go from here? Where was anyone supposed to go from here?

“Just, damn it, Cass.” He rubbed his forehead again. “Just explain what happened, OK?”

“You were going to die, Dean.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“The shadow, that video, it was our final warning.”

“Yeah, yeah. One of you or a, whatever, a thing. I get it.”

“So I went to them.”

Dean motioned with his hand.

“I went to the door and knocked. They let me in.” Castiel turned away slightly, looking up at the ceiling, then down at the floor. “They told me their spell required a sacrifice of carnal pleasure.”

“What spell?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Cass—”

“They’re all dead. Sam and I killed them. I believe the spell was to enslave the forces of nature in some manner. They were working to increase the power of their coven. I never learned their ultimate goal.”

“They’re all dead?”

“Extremely.” A trace of satisfaction made it into Cass’ flat tone.

“And me not remembering? That was part of the spell?”

“Yes, although, if you wanted, I could.”

Dean held up his hands. “You could what?”

“I could make it so that you remembered.” Cass look at him intently. “Surely, you don’t want that, Dean. I can tell you the facts. There’s no need to take you back there.”

He thought about that, looking around the cabin like Donna’s antlers and old rifles were going to tell him what to do. There was nothing about this moment that he didn’t hate.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s try that.”

Cass nodded gratefully.

“Sit down,” Dean said, pointing to the other end of the brown sofa. Cass looked liked he’d rather wallow in a nest of vipers, but obeyed.

“I went to you,” he said. “And we engaged in a number of sexual activities of an increasingly intimate nature until the coven agreed that our arrangement was finished. Then I and Sam were given permission to leave with you. We took you to the car, then returned and killed them all.”

Dean nodded. And waited.

“That it?”

“Yes.” Cass nodded.

“Details?”

Cass frowned, sitting back slightly on the couch, huddled in his trench coat. “They’re not pertinent, Dean. You’ve had sex before. Just, fill in the details.”

“Fill in the details?”

“Yes.”

“Well, help me to visualize it, Cass. When I took off you bra, what was your cup size?”

Cass stared at him. “I don’t wear a bra, Dean.”

But he shook his head. “No, you don’t get to play dumb angel with me. You don’t, so help me, you don’t get to do that!”

He stood up and paced to the little kitchen and then back, looking down on Castiel, who had gone back to staring at the floor.

“Look, I’m assuming we were naked, right?”

Cass shook his head. “That first time, I did not disrobe.”

“So you were still wearing the coat while I was naked and painted up like a harem boy?”

Cass looked at him, actually affronted. “I was trying to keep things as normal as I could.”

“You bent me over the furniture!”

Cass was on his feet now. “I brought you to orgasm that first time with my hand only! I did not get undressed. I didn’t look at you more than I had to! You experienced sexual pleasure, and then I went to the coven in supplication, and they denied I had done what I was told! The spell, their damn spell required some sort of level of erotic satisfaction that I had failed to bring from you!”

The angel looked away now, staring at the wall. “They said if I failed to give them what they ‘needed,’ they would throw you in some brothel in South America until you were . . . taken adequately. You still have my sigils on your bones. I could never have found you in time. There was nothing—”

“Cass!” Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying to bring his blood pressure down. “Cass.” He looked at his friend’s hunched shoulders and averted face. “I understand, OK? I get it. You did what you had to do to save me from worse.”

Castiel didn’t answer.

“And the, what, the first time? I was lying there all out of it and you jerked me off, right?”

“Yes.”

“Cass, damn it, look at me.”

His friend turned, face blanker than fog.

“I need to know more than that.”

“Why?” A trace of despair leaked into that flat voice.

“Because you know, and I don’t!”

“I know an eternity of things you don’t!”

“None of them features getting me off!”

Cass’ lips firmed, and a second his eyes burned with anger. He put two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

_“Dean’s in there,” Castiel said, angel blade in his right hand and Jimmy Novak’s shoes (or close enough) sunk into the two-inch-deep mud surrounding the old mansion._

_“You sure?” Sam asked, Ruby’s knife at the ready, his entire body covered in mud and black blood after their fight with the enchanted hell hound._

_“Yes.”_

_Castiel stepped forward, pushing against the angel warding, which fortunately hadn’t been done very well, certainly not well enough to keep him from getting to Dean._

Dean blinked, and he was back in Donna’s cabin. Castiel was recoiling, regret in his eyes.

“Show me, damn it, Cass.”

And then he was lying on a bed of red satin sheets that felt like cool slides of lips and tongues against his hot skin. The relief was incredible, but so short-lived. He was burning, always burning.

“Help me,” he was moaning. “Help me, Cass.”

And then Castiel was there, muddy and bloody, but whole and solid and real.

Dean closed his eyes, reveling as the moisture seeped into his dry eyes and spread relief—fleeting, but blessed relief.

“Help me, Cass,” he moaned again, not wanting to look to see if this were another hallucination.

“I’m here, Dean,” that voice said, and it was better than any music, any clap of thunder, any sound ever. “I’m sorry.”

“Touch me, damn it.” He pushed his hips up, feeling the last lip of the satin slide away from his leaking aching cock. “I need to come while you watch. I need to feel you. Fuck, Cass, now.”

A warm, strong, oddly soft hand wrapped around him, and finally he dared to open his eyes again, to look at that God-beautiful face, with Cass’ blue eyes and the determined set of his mouth.

“Fuck, Cass,” he whispered. “Fuck me.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Dean,” Cass said, applying the perfect amount of pressure to his dick. “I am bringing you to fulfilment. As I understand it, that should suffice.” He twisted his fingers, rippling the pressure, and Dean shouted in joy. It was like getting a hand job from a professional: perfect if indifferent. But it felt so good.

“More, Cass. God! More!”

“Dean, your blood pressure is greatly elevated. Your genitals are engorged and sensitive. You are hyperventilating at forty-plus breaths per minute, and a brief tachycardia is eminent. Ischiocavernosus and bulbocavernosus muscle contractions are approaching and will soon be followed by rectal sphincter contractions. When you grimace and ejaculate, I believe the spell will be sufficiently fueled, and they will allow us to—“

“Cass!” Dean screamed, coming in thick ropes of semen after hours of denied orgasm. And for a while there, everything was just sort of blurry and gray and warm.

He came back to himself while Cass was cleaning him up. Quite unlike the clinical touch of before, his best friend was being gentle, dabbing at spots with a warm cloth, covering his body with satin and apologies.

“When we get out of here, we’ll talk,” Cass was saying quietly. “We’ll be able to get through this. It was just a matter of survival. This was nothing compared to the intimacy you’ve shared with many others, which is all a natural aspect of your personal character.”

“Cass?” Dean murmured, feeling himself fall into sleep. God, he felt so much better.

“It will be fine, Dean,” Cass said. “This will be enough, and we’ll take you home.”

Dean nodded and let himself go.

But then he was walking into the main room of the house. The stench of the place was horrific. He saw dead cats and putrefying reptiles and a large cauldron in the center of the room surrounded by three witches draped in red and purple robes.

Sam was standing there, and in Cass’ body, in his memory, Dean walked forward to stand at Sam’s side.

“It’s done,” he/Cass said to the witches. “We’ll take him now and go.”

A chorus of voices spoke from the cauldron: “ _The pleasure was nothing. You have not done as we’ve asked_.”

“Dean Winchester has achieved sexual release,” he/Cass said.

“ _The pleasure was nothing. You did not even allow him access to your body_.”

“This is only a vessel,” he/Cass said. “Dean knows this. Nothing will be achieved by—”

“ _If neither of you can bring the pleasure we seek, we will call upon others. They know the ways of pleasure, even as they consume mortal flesh._ ”

“Dean had—” Sam tried to say.

“ _Either try again to induce the pleasure we seek, or leave and never return_.”

He/Cass turned to Sam, who looked devastated.

“Cass,” Sam whispered. “You can’t leave him here.”

“I won’t,” he/Cass said. “Of course I won’t.”

And then Dean was sitting on Donna’s dark brown couch staring into the shuttered eyes of his friend.

“The rest of our time went similarly,” Cass said, then looked to the dark window. “It’s late. You should get some sleep, and perhaps tomorrow we can drive back to the bunker.” He stood and walked to the door.

“Cass?” Dean’s voice sounded odd to himself.

“I would like to walk,” the angel said, and then left.

Alone, Dean looked at his hands. They were shaking just slightly.

“Damn it, Cass,” he whispered.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel didn’t return until the morning after a long night of maybe forty minutes’ sleep for Dean. In short, the sun in the east didn’t make either of them happy.

After to-go coffee, toast, and bacon for Dean and absolutely nothing from Cass, the angel asked, “Are you ready to go home now?”

“No.”

Castiel’s eyebrows did that angry thing. “Dean.”

“What? We go through all that, and I get a hand job scene?” Dean threw up a hand, signaling for another moment, and then shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

Cass sat quietly in his chair. It struck Dean that Donna didn’t have any plants in her cabin, which made sense.

“All right, what happened next?” Dean asked. “They said no, and you, what did you do?”

“I talked with Sam about getting you out of there without permission.”

“And?”

“And we both agreed the risk was too great.”

“Sam said, what, you went to them seven times?”

“Yes.”

“So we had sex six more times.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“So you came back that second time, and?”

“As they had been particularly critical of my clothed state, I walked back to your room and took off my clothes.”

Dean looked at him, part curious and part furious. “So, what? I jerked you back off this time? I need details here, Cass!”

Cass scowled then walked forward and put two figures to Dean’s forehead.

Cass naked hadn’t been what he’d expected. Jimmy had kept himself in great shape, probably with running, but it was more than that.

Cass’ vessel wasn’t just some guy. After all, Jimmy Novak himself had left the building back when Raphael had blown him up like a “water balloon of wet soup.” Jimmy and his wife were sharing heaven now. Jimmy was gone.

So what was he looking at now? A naked angel, that’s what.

Cass’ body was human, but a little something extra, a little brighter and leaner and smoother like that naked David statue, or just—damn it. He didn’t know. There was just very little chance that a male body could look like that without an angel inside it,

“Evidently my reticence to engage as an equal in this prevented the level or type of pleasure the coven is seeking,” Cass in this memory said.

Dean tried to think of something to say to that, but mostly he was just looking at ridiculously strong thighs, an incredibly pert ass, oddly arty shoulders, and most compelling of all, his best friend’s blue eyes, which looked profoundly sad.

“Oh, no, Cass.” Dean sat up in the bed and opened his arms. “Come here, man.”

The angel frowned at him.

“Seriously, Cass. Come here.”

Slowly, he made his way over, looking more determined than grieving now, which was at least something.

When Dean knelt up on the bed and hugged him, it was with the same innocent intensity of when he had found him in Purgatory.

But then the hunter inhaled, and the sweet-salt smell of warm skin went straight to his brain stem.

With a moan, Dean turned his head to kiss and suck at Cass’ nape as his right hand slid with joy over a smooth shoulder, around and down a perfectly slopped back, and then down further to fill his palm with a firm handful of ass.

“Dean!” the angel shouted, then clamped his mouth shut, body tensing.

“Enjoy me, Cass.”

“Dean, I need to—”

“You need to enjoy me like I’m enjoying you.” Dean took advantage of the confused look Cass shot him to kiss up and over his chin, then brought his hand back up to keep him from looking away again. “It was your ‘reluctance to partake,’ right?”

Castiel was looking at his lips, eyes a little wide. “I need to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

“You won’t.  

So Dean was more than a little surprised when Cass shoved him back on the bed with a touch of angel strength, not hurting him all, but definitely making clear Dean could do nothing about it.

“I want to please you,” the angel said, soft lips moving against his stomach. “You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

“I failed at—”

“I’m not talking about success or failure. I’m talking about you, the soul I met in Hell, the man for whom I rebelled, the person you are in yourself.” Cass feathered a row of kisses down his stomach into his small, soft hairs. “The Dean Winchester I have been proud to call my friend.”

Dean tried but failed to keep from pushing his hips forward. Castiel’s ozone scent and warmth were too delicious.

“God, Cass.”

“I’ve been thinking about, that it, how to do this,” Cass said, and then a hot—seriously, a fucking hot—mouth cocooned down his shaft until he was enveloped in warmth, suckling him like he was some giver of like or some shit, and then Cass was sucking hard, working the muscles of his mouth and then—holy fuck—his throat.

Dean shouted out some nonsense or other like a vow before a church, meaning every word he didn’t remember two seconds later, but just ecstatic as all fuck.

And he looked down, and there was Cass, looking at him solemnly even as his dick slipped from his mouth, a strand of cum and saliva stretching out between his spent cock and Cass’ full lips.

“Damn it, Cass,” Dean said, and then passed out.

***

“So, you still didn’t come,” Dean said when he was back in the present.

“I achieved release.”

“Woah, just from sucking me off?”

Dean would have regretted being crude, but Cass seemed to appreciate the direct question, and nodded.  “Yes.”

Dean had to admit to being impressed. No girl had ever—wait, what the hell was he thinking?

“And that still wasn’t enough?”

Cass shook his head, face expressionless again. “They said I was still refusing to provide the level of energy they needed.” Cass frowned, and Dean was reminded of a moment years ago in a dream when the angel had reminded him he was a warrior of God. “I demanded clarification, and they laughed, asking if Sam wanted to know the specifics.”

“Sam was there?”

“Backing me up, but I think they enjoyed his worry and discomfort.” Those blue eyes clouded over a bit. “All of their power was emotionally fueled. I believe that’s why their magic overwhelmed Jack. He has insufficient emotional maturity to fend off the sensation.”

Dean found himself looking at one of Donna’s little knick-knacks, a garden gnome with its hat broken off, lying on the kitchen counter beside it, ready to be mended. Wouldn’t help with how ugly the thing was, though.

“So, we both got off, but they still weren’t happy.”

“Yes.”

“All right, so, episode three.”

Cass’s eyes were pleading now, just slightly. “Dean, it was just sexual stimulation and release. Are the details really so important?”

“Can you make yourself forget it?”

“What?” Cass sat back.

“With your holy abracadabra, can you use it to make yourself forget about it?”

“No.”

Dean nodded. “We were raped, Cass. You realize that?”

He flinched, obviously hiding his hurt. “I had no—”

“You had no choice, Cass. That’s my point!” Dean stood up, paced to the fireplace, pace back, rana hand through his hair, and sat back down. He took a breath, or two. “We were both violated. You think I don’t realize that?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“No, it’s about us, together, a little slice of hell we went through together.” Dean leaned forward, irritated and a little hurt himself when Cass shrank back a bit. “I’m not leaving all that on you. I want to see it all. I want to know everything!”

“Why?!”

“Because then I can forgive you for it. For all of it. And then we can get past this.”

The angel blinked at him. “If you tell me you would—”

“You’d still doubt it, and it will always be there.”

Castiel seemed to shrink a bit more, then gathered himself and reached over to touch Dean’s forehead again.

***


End file.
